New older mothers

I put the supplements up on the counter at the health food store. My eight month old was positioned on my hip and my 11 year old was standing next to me, bored and put out by the endless errands we had to run that day.

On the counter was Kava Kava for relaxation, B12 for energy, Vitamin D for my immune, Psyllium powder for constipation, and Black Cohosh for menopausal symptoms. My son was fidgeting and trying to grab whatever was colorful on the counter. The owner had yet to come to the register. I handed the baby off to his sister and said, “hold your brother for a second, I forgot something.” She obliged begrudgingly, still annoyed with his existence, ruining her standing as an “only child.” [Read More…]

The media-led furore around older mothers rumbles on. Tabloid headlines inferring that the rise in mothers over the age of 50 having babies was responsible for excessive pressure across the health service. The percentage increase was huge but in real terms the number of women (in the UK) giving birth into their fifth decade went up to the total of 154 – a tiny figure as a part of the general rise in the number of births to older parents (35 and upwards).

When figures like this are published, I get approached by the press about my own experience as an older mother. My response is and has consistently the same – that I am where I am, and that I’m extremely blessed to be the mother of a wonderful, exuberant and thriving two-year-old. And, that (in common with mothers everywhere) I’m doing the best I can for my daughter to ensure she has a happy childhood, and a safe and secure future.

Sometimes that’s OK. But often the journalist will prod, looking for an angle, “How do you deal with the negative view of older parents?” “Did you feel judged by the medical profession?” “Are people rude to you when you breastfeed in public?” “You must have had a terribly difficult pregnancy?” “Do you have low energy levels due to your age?” and so on and so forth. [Read More…]

“I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

– Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country

Someone posted the above quote by Kurt Vonnegut on Facebook recently and it truly spoke to me. I hadn’t encountered it before; although Kurt Vonnegut was one of my favorite authors in high school, I’ve read very little of him since. I loved him then because he made me laugh and think and view the world in a new, demented way, and this is likely at least partially why I am the way I am now: cynical but loving and tending to view the world in an odd, demented way.

Have you ever said to yourself, “I am happy now; this is what happiness is?” I’ve always thought it was a little odd that I do. I’ve long thought it was my writing tendency that so often made me feel as though I were standing apart from the scene in which I found myself, a somewhat impartial observer. Reading that quote made me realize that, even if that’s a strange thing to do, I’m not entirely alone. Kurt Vonnegut, at least, knew about that. [Read More…]

Who are you in the hidden corners of your heart? What are the secrets that no one knows about, tucked away in the dark?

Do you hope for more happiness or wish for less pain? Do you dream of perfect health, maybe you hold onto memories from your 20’s.

Is there something you haven’t been brave enough to step out and do but the glimmer of hope still flickers in your heart?

The reality is during any given day you are the caregiver, the doctor, the chef and the housecleaner. You may work outside of the home, after which you come back and pick up where you left off. Some of you spend your day in the home, being a teacher, acting as chauffeur, or a cheerleader, and the lady at the laundry mat. [Read More…]

I remember the first Mother’s Day card I received. It was ten years ago. I’d been a new mom for two months. I was a more than timid about reading the card; nearly embarrassed about acknowledging my new-found status.

It was similar to an incident which occurred around the same time. While at a local Blockbuster, my baby called out to me in front of some acquaintances. Unaware that I’d become a new mom, they nearly paled when they saw that I was the recipient. I couldn’t face them directly, but caught their disbelief out of the corner of my eye. I was almost embarrassed for them. I wondered whether I appeared “motherly enough;” whether they’d ever seen me that way. [Read More…]

I had the most disarmingly honest conversation with the director of Anna’s new preschool yesterday. Like all good preschools around here, there had been a long waiting list. I didn’t have a hope of getting in. But I lamented to a mom friend about my hopeless hunt for good childcare, and, God bless her, she leaned in and said “You know, I might be able to help.” There might be a spot, she said, at her daughter’s preschool, as she graduated to public school. Did I want her to put a word in? Oh yes, please. [Read More…]

17 months have passed since she was born. I was 47 then, I’m (just) 49 now. Many people have congratulated me on my beautiful, funny, chatting, waving, singing, dancing daughter. And then, finally, along with the sunshine came the question that the media would like to think that I (as an ‘older mother’) get asked all the time. “Are you her Grandmother?” Oddly it wasn’t just once but twice in the same day … and both times by other (older-looking) women. [Read More…]

Dear Reader: Our very own UK-based Ellie Stoneley has been shortlisted for the prestigious Brilliance in Blogging award for her blog, Mush Brained Ramblings.

Here is her latest work:

“Sticks and stones may break my bones But names will never hurt me”

This pearl of wisdom, attributed to a Mrs George Cuppples in something called Tappy’s Chicks back in 1872, is now part of nursery folklore.

I’ve never been particularly bothered by names or labels, which is probably just as well. I always wanted to be known as Beth (inspired by sweet gentle Beth from Little Women), but that never stuck, instead I ended up with Ellie as a result of my brother singing his version of (N)ellie the elephant very gleefully when my mother plated my hair into tight braids behind my ears which then stuck out at right angles.

I married in my mid forties (maybe the ears had put people off before that) and a few months before the wedding, was referred to by someone as a ‘spinster’ that’s one of the few names I have objected to … not long after that I became a “Mrs.,” a label that seems somehow too grown up for me and I’ve never quite got the hang of. Then, by an utter miracle, just over four years later, I became a mother. [Read More…]